


Seahorses

by sparksearcher



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Drunk Sex, F/M, Mpreg, Smut, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-29
Updated: 2015-07-29
Packaged: 2018-04-11 20:23:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4450925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparksearcher/pseuds/sparksearcher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a night of drunken shenanigans, Clara and the Doctor find out he's pregnant with her child.  First chapter smut, second chapter pregnancy.  Mpreg.  The most ridiculous thing I've ever written.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [capalxii](https://archiveofourown.org/users/capalxii/gifts).



"Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, twenty," Clara counts with a giggle and a hiccup.

 

"Nineteen," the Doctor corrects his companion.  He silently counts the glasses littering the area around them for corroboration.  "Clara, you should have nineteen little paper…thingies.  Umbrellas," he slurs and waves his hand.

 

Clara sticks one behind her ear before spinning on her stool to show her back to him.  "Put them in my hair," she says.

 

"Are you always this bossy when you've been drinking?  See if I ever take you for cocktails again.  I don't think I like this."  It is a perfunctory protest, and one hand is already reaching for the pile of colorful paper and toothpicks, the other tapping haphazardly at the screen in front of him.

 

"Shut up."

 

"Yes ma'am."  He pokes an umbrella into Clara's braid.

 

This trip is their combined brainchild.  Clara had lamented that she hadn't been to any futuristic casinos yet.  The Doctor has been banned from most on Earth and several other planets at some point in all his lives, accused of counting cards or somehow cheating at roulette or that one with the dice.  The only place he could still go was Atlantic City, and they set off for 2378.  Rather than have dinner and take in a show, like the Doctor expects them to- they're certainly dressed for it, him in a nice suit with a new jacket and her in a lovely dark dress that maybe showed a little too much leg- Clara sits them both down at a bar with some sort of crazy video slot machine and ordered margaritas for the pair of them.  ("I'm not sure this face likes margaritas."  "Sure it does.")

 

Four hours and nineteen margaritas later (thirteen of which reside in the Doctor's stomach- "If you ask me, you regenerated with a separate stomach for margaritas."  "I didn't ask you, Oswald."), Clara has lost about half of the small amount she brought to gamble with, but the Doctor is actually winning.  He slurs a promise to buy her something nice.  Clara decides to cut her losses and stops playing, boredom leading her to play with the umbrellas.

 

The Doctor finishes his work and moves her hair over one shoulder so she can admire his handiwork.  "There."  His fingers trail along Clara's neck and she shivers.  "What do you want to do when we're done here?"

 

She rises from her stool and leans against the Doctor's side.  "Whatever you want is fine."  Her breath ghosts across his cheek.

 

He inhales slowly but doesn't respond, eyes searching her face.

 

"I think," she begins in a sultry tone, delighted as the Doctor's pupils dilate, "you should cash out and we should go."  Clara runs her hands up the sleeves of his red velvet jacket and curls her fingers into the dark hair at the nape of his neck.

 

He licks his lips and nods, eyes fixed on hers.  "Okay," he rasps.

 

The Doctor misses the button to stop playing and places another bet just as Clara tugs him to meet her lips.  It's sloppy, uncoordinated, but she presses on when he shows no signs of awkward flailing.  His hands settle on her lower back, gripping her dress in tight fists.  His toes curl inside his boots, and he nips her bottom lip, moaning softly.

 

Clara pulls back and laughs softly.  "Didn't expect to hear bells if I ever kissed you."

 

He opens his eyes slowly and looks at her in confusion.  The Doctor can't hear much besides blood pulsing in his ears, but he can pick up a faint ringing now that he listens for it.

 

The bartender stood nearby, finally removing their glasses.  "You hit the jackpot, buddy."  He gestures to the flashing screen but the Doctor's eyes don't leave Clara's.

 

He tightens his grip on Clara's hips.  "Yes, I did."  She blushes at his meaningful look.

 

The large man rolls his eyes.  "I didn't mean your girl, but between her and the money you just won, you might be the luckiest gut in this place."  He waves over someone on the other side of the bar.

 

Another man, this one wearing an expensive suit, escorts them out of the gambling area and into an office.  He keeps a slow pace, mindful of the fact that the Doctor is essentially supporting all of Clara's weight as she teeters in her heels.  The Doctor's body is tense, ready to scoop her up and penguin run away at the first sign of trouble.

 

For once an encounter in a back office does not lead to a life or death situation, and the pair stumbles from the casino, pockets several thousand dollars heavier.  Good thing said pockets are bigger on the inside.  They stagger down the boardwalk in search of the TARDIS, stopping at the first bar they pass for another drink of two…

 

*

 

Clara wakes up the next morning and everything aches.  Her head hurts, her body is twisted into a weird position, and between her legs throbs.  Shifting slightly in an effort to ease her discomfort, Clara suddenly realizes she's naked and not alone.

 

She blinks her eyes open and shuts them again.  This must be a hallucination.  She opens them again.  Same sight.  Probably not a hallucination then.

 

The Doctor lays curled up around Clara's body, head on her shoulder and clinging to her hip tightly.  His lips press against her neck as if he fell asleep kissing her.  She snorts softly to herself.  More like they both passed out drunk.

 

Clara takes in her surroundings.  Definitely the TARDIS, but not her room.  Must be his then.  Everything is bathed in soft light from the Doctor's beloved 'round thing'.  Dark sheets on an enormous bed, and the furniture is all matching dark wood.  A desk in the corner is piled high with books, and she smiles at the sight.

 

The Doctor holds her close to his body, and there is no way she can get out of bed without waking him.  He slept so rarely that Clara decides to stay put, but mentally prepares herself for the conversation they will have to have.  His body is pleasantly cool against hers, and one of her hands runs through his hair, the other slowly stroking his bare back of its own volition.  His cock gives a sleepless twitch against her thigh at the motion, and oh yes they will definitely have a discussion later.

 

He comes to sluggishly, his mouth sucking on her neck and hips rocking against her thigh, evidently under the impression he's still dreaming.  Clara inhales sharply when he rolls on top of her, and she wraps her legs around his waist, keeping him close.  The Doctor moves his head down to her breasts, alternating between murmuring her name and sucking her nipples.  Clara felt her toes curl and knew she absolutely could come from his voice alone.  She rocks her hips up and uses the momentum to flip them over, settling herself astride him.  He lets out a moan as his back hits the bed, hands coming up to grip her thighs.

 

"Doctor."  She aims for stern but the feel of him sliding against her slick sex makes it breathless instead.  She clears her throat and tries again.  "Doctor, look at me."

 

"Yup, looking."  He fixes her with a smoldering look, and she forgets everything she wants to say.  All thoughts center on how she wants to ride him.  "Clara," he groans in need, hips lifting off the bed.

 

"Doctor, this isn't a dream."  One of his hands moves to cup a breast, thumb torturing the peak.

 

"It's not?"  Halfway between a question and a statement.  The gears in his mind are trying to work, but he still isn't awake enough yet.

 

She leans forward over him and plants her hands on either side of his head.  They are nose-to-nose, brown eyes staring into blue and begging him to understand.  "This is very, very real."

 

That causes his brain to snap to attention.  He blinks twice and looks around, suddenly alert.  The Doctor quickly removes his hands from her body, and she regrettable climbs off him, not bothering to cover up her body, even as he clings to the covers.  He looks so confused.  "Clara, what happened last night?"

 

"I'm not sure.  I've been trying to remember, but everything after the casino is a blank."

 

"Did we-?" he stops and blushes.

 

She smiles weakly.  "I think so.  I'm sore in all the right places for it, and we've both got marks."  She traces a bruise on his neck.

 

"Sorry."  He's having trouble meeting her eyes.

 

"It's okay.  Wait, can you get me pregnant?  We probably didn't use protection."

 

He bristles.  "Of course not.  We're two different species."

 

Clara tries not to feel a sense of loss at that knowledge, accepting that she can't have kids with her impossible man without some sort of scientific and biological interference.  She lays back in the pillows to distract herself.  "Then it's okay."

 

The Doctor fiddles with the blanket covering his lap.  " _Is_ it okay?" he questions.

 

She thinks for a moment.  "Yeah.  Yeah, it's okay.  More than okay even.  Are _you_ okay?" she asks when he purses his lips.

 

He takes longer to ponder the answer.  "I think so.  But I would feel better if I could remember last night."

 

Clara nods and sits up.  The awkwardness is creeping up on them, and she needs to escape it.  She also feels gross and hungry.  "After a shower and breakfast we can try piecing it together.  Meet me in the kitchen in twenty."  He closes his eyes when she leaves the bed to gather her clothes, which Clara finds amusing.  He's already seen everything, even if he doesn't necessarily remember it.  Once she has everything, she lightly steps back to the bed and kisses the Doctor's cheek.  His eyes fly open in surprise.  "We'll be fine," she promises.

 

Twenty-five minutes later the Doctor slinks into the kitchen and sits in his usual chair.  Clara is already cooking a heavy breakfast, French toast, bacon, and eggs, apron tied over her clothes.  She nurses a coffee as she confidently works the stove, and the Doctor is relieved to see a mug in his spot.  Clara plates everything buffet-style and sets the plates on the table.  She runs her right hand through his hair as she passes to her chair, and they both inhale sharply as a memory from last night comes back to them.  Her hands tangled in his curls as she rides him, calling his name, the Doctor's own hands digging into Clara's shoulder and hip, pulling her onto him harder and faster.

 

They settle into an awkward silence, unable to meet each other's gazes.  The Doctor serves her first then takes his own plate.  Clara raises an eyebrow when she sees how much syrup he pours on his breakfast but says nothing.  During their meal, the Doctor explains that the best way to figure out everything that happened the previous night is for him to use his telepathy on her.  Between the fragments he remembers on his own and what he can find in Clara's mind, there should be enough puzzle pieces for a nearly complete picture.

 

The Doctor takes care of the dishes, and they move to one of several sitting rooms on the TARDIS and sit facing each other on a loveseat.

 

"Ready?"  The Doctor's hands are poised by her temples.

 

Clara takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly.  "I'm ready."  Eyes closed, another breath.

 

He shuts his eyes and touches his fingertips to her head.  Clara feels a slight pressure in her mind and fights the instinct to recoil from it.  He murmurs soothing words to her as he sorts through her memories.  She watches them play like a movie and inhales audibly when the Doctor finds them walking back to the TARDIS after the second bar.

 

*

_Clara teeters on her feet, and the Doctor wraps an arm around her waist to keep her steady.  He isn't doing much better, unable to walk in a straight line, but as long as he doesn't veer too much to either side they should be alright.  He fumbles the key, and it takes a few tries, but he finally unlocks it and leads her inside, the lock sounding behind them as the door closes._

_"Where to next, Clara, Clara?"  He decides he likes the sound of her name and drawls it a few more times.  "Clara, Clara, Clara."  The Doctor spun in place by the console and looks at her, then yelps when Clara pushes him into the jump seat and climbs into his lap, short dress hiking impossibly higher, kissing him hungrily, tongue in his mouth.  Brief flailing as he struggles out of his jacket, then he reaches up to cup her face gently with one hand, the other pulling the ridiculous umbrellas from her hair and tossing them on the floor._

_Her own hands tangle in his grey hair, nails scratching his scalp and she hums in his mouth.  Her lips leave his to trail kisses up his jaw, only stopping to lick the shell of his ear and blow cool air.  She relishes the shudder going through his body and repeats the action on the other side._

_"Bedroom," Clara finally answers.  "Yours, mine, neither, I don't care.  Just bring me somewhere with a mattress."  She rocks her hips to make her point, gasping as he hardens beneath her damp core._

_The Doctor nods and stands up, encouraging Clara to wrap her legs around his waist.  He groans when her mouth clamps onto his neck.  That'll leave a mark.  One arm stays high on her back to press her to his chest.  The other firmly cups  her arse._

_The TARDIS makes an aggravated noise.  "We're going, old girl," he reassures the ship as he slowly carries Clara to the corridor containing her bedroom.  He stops abruptly when he realizes it wasn’t there._

_"Did she hide my room again?" Clara whines between nips to the Doctor's collarbone.  "Sod it.  Your room."_

_He nods and starts forward again, then stops.  The pivots and presses Clara's back to the corridor wall instead.  "Take the edge off a bit in case she hides mine too," the Doctor promises, sliding a hand between Clara's legs and pushing her knickers aside.  His mouth finds her neck and she gasps when two fingers enter her.  He teases her lightly, alternating between curling and a thrusting motion._

_"Doctor… oh my… oh god."  Clara's breathing speeds up.  She's been turned on most of the day, ever since she saw him in his suit this afternoon, well before she started drinking, and he quickly drives her to the edge.  She cries out when his thumb applies the right pressure to her clit and squirms to direct where she wants his attention._

_He complies, pulling away from her neck to lean his forehead to hers.  "Clara, tell me what you want."  He voice drops to the low, growly tone she loves._

_Her face flushes with the effort of stringing words together.  "Faster.  Just faster," she paints.  "So close, Doctor."_

_His movements quicken, and it's a good thing he's supporting her weight because there is no way her knees could hold her upright.  She is desperate to feel his skin on hers and tears at his shirt, scattering buttons everywhere, and splays her palms over his lean chest._

_Clara seizes the Doctor in a rough kiss when her climax hits, tugging on his hair.  He sighs into her mouth and slows his fingers, only removing them after her muscles stop contracting around them._

_"How was that?"  He puts his fingers in his mouth, moaning at her taste._

_She smiles serenely.  "That certainly did take the edge off, but that had better not be the only orgasm you give me tonight."_

_"It won't be," he promises with a wicked glint in his eye.  The Doctor resumes the trek to his bedroom.  "Does this-" he rolls his hips into hers, showing just how hard he's become "-feel like I'm going to let you down?"_

_"Definitely not," Clara purrs._

 

*

 

In the sitting room, the Doctor removes his hands from Clara's temples to withdraw from her mind and shifts awkwardly in his seat.

 

"You okay?" her own face is warm but she watches him in concern.

 

"Yes," he lies, licking his lips.  He decides on a partially-truthful explanation.  "Just got a bit intense in your mind."

 

"Are we going to look at more memories?"  She sounds hopeful and slightly breathless.

 

"Ah, no.  I think we've pieced together enough of what happened."  He stands up and buttons his jacket, hoping to hide the face that the memory aroused him.  "I have to go repair a, um, thing.  See you later."  He dashes for the door, but Clara's voice stops him.

 

"Five."

 

"I'm sorry?"  He slowly turns to face her.

 

"I remember now.  You make me come five times last night.  It was… incredible."  She approaches him and takes his hand.  "Maybe we could have a repeat performance?"

 

The Doctor looks at her in amazement.  "Yes."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mpreg. Sorry about the sappy ending.

The next six weeks or so pass without any near-apocalyptic incidents.  They save worlds by day and spend nights together stretched out on a comfortable surface in the TARDIS.  The ship forgives them fairly quickly considering the severity of their transgression- hanky panky in the console room.  She seems more protective of the Doctor lately, appearing anytime he's in the slightest bit of danger, even if she hasn't been summoned, but he blames it on jealousy now that she has to share him with Clara.  The explanation doesn't make sense because the ship willingly protects Clara too and she's been sharing him with Clara for months, but they don't examine it too much.

 

He spends a lot more time horizontal than before, sometimes in Clara's bed, sometimes his own, usually with Clara but sometimes alone.  This initially worries her, but he assures her he's fine.  Just the new carnal aspect of their relationship taking a lot out of him right now.  He went from being sexually repressed for a thousand years to spending nearly every evening buried inside her.  His body just needs a little time to adapt to the change.  Then he settles on his back and pulls her over to straddle him, and Clara forgets what she was concerned about as she sinks down on his cock.

 

One early morning Clara wakes to an empty bed and a retching noise close to the bedroom.  She ties a robe on over her naked form and stretches her sore muscles as she walks into the en-suite, heart melting into a puddle at the sight in front of her.

 

The poor Doctor is crouched over the toilet, sweat rolling down his bare back and panting heavily.  He does not notice her yet, and she takes a moment to observe him.  He coughs and groans, head back over the bowl and muttering a prayer for relief.  Clara moves forward and kneels behind him, reaching out to rub his back soothingly.  He tenses under her ministrations.

 

"Hey," she says softly.  "Stomach bug or food poisoning?"

 

He flushes the toilet and accepts Clara's hand to help him up.  He moves to the sink to brush his teeth.  "Neither, I think.  Sorry to wake you.  I asked the TARDIS to move us farther apart, but she had other ideas."  He scowls at the wall and points his toothbrush at it menacingly.

 

She ignores the latter part of his statement.  "What do you think is wrong then?  Do you want to go back to bed or the sickbay?"

 

"Not wrong, just different.  Sickbay.  I might as well confirm it.  You should go back to bed though.  I'll be back soonish."

 

Clara shakes her head.  "Not happening, Doctor.  I'm coming with you."

 

He hesitates, chewing his thumb before assenting.  "Okay."

 

The Doctor leads the way but stops right outside the sickbay doors.  "Clara, whatever happens in there…"  He pauses to run a hand through his hair.  "Just remember that I love you."

 

Tears spring to her eyes.  It was the first time he said it using those specific words, he really must be worried.  She squeezes his hand reassuringly.  "I love you too."  Clara kisses him gently and gasps when he kisses her back.  The press of his lips is urgent, desperate, like he thinks she will change her mind about him and wants a kiss to remember her by.

 

He pulls away slowly and opens the door without another word. He sits down on an examination table and hits a few buttons on a remote, holding absolutely still while it scans him.  After a few seconds a nearby screen dings and the results appear.  His expression does not change, neutral with an edge of nervousness, so it must be what he expected.

 

Clara moves closer to look at the results.  They are in Gallifreyan, but the translation matrix interprets one important word for her.  Pregnant.

 

She rubs her eyes, positive she is imagining things, but the screen stays the same.  Circular symbols and the English word pregnant.  She furrows her brow.  Maybe pregnant means something else on Gallifrey.

 

The Doctor watches her carefully, trying to gauge her reaction.  He refrains from comments on her inflated eyes, but truthfully his are inflating too.  Clara decides a cautious smile is the best approach.

 

"So, pregnant?  How far along?"

 

"A little over six weeks.  Since that night in Atlantic City."

 

She nods.  "Maybe we don't mention to our baby that they were conceived after a night of drunken sex.  Or at least wait until they're older."

 

A slow smile spreads over his face.  "Yeah.  Yeah, let's do that."  A few minutes pass.  "So you probably have questions."

 

"Some, yeah.  Question one:  I thought we couldn't have babies together?  Not that I'm not pleased you were wrong," she added.  "I don't think I've ever wanted you to be this wrong before."

 

"It's complicated.  The TARDIS, she… did a thing.  There's a reason that the only room we could find with a bed was mine."

 

"Did a thing?  So that we can make babies?"

 

"Yes."

 

"Okay.  Two: is this safe for you?"

 

A shrug.  "About as safe as any pregnancy, I suppose.  Definitely safer than it would be for you."

 

She grows concerned.  "How do you mean?"

 

"Well, if there are… complications from carrying a half-human, half-Gallifreyan child, I can regenerate.  You don't have that ability."  He crosses his arms over his chest.

 

Still some hang-ups on that answer, but she moves on.  "Three: how is the baby going to come out?"

 

"The usual way."  Clara's eyebrows shoot up and she looks at his lap, and he explains further.  "The pregnant body goes through a lot of changes.  In my case, some of those changes include acquiring the correct equipment, for want of a better word."

 

"Uh huh."  More concern.

 

"Would it help to think of us like seahorses?"

 

"Seahorses?"

 

"The male seahorse has a pouch for holding the babies and is the one that gives birth.  It's sort of like that, but on a more complicated level."

 

"Okay, that helps a little bit.  Last question for now: do you need anything?"

 

He opens his arms wide.  "Come here."  The Doctor pulls her into his arms and embraces her fiercely.  "This is good, right?"  His thumbs rub under her eyes, wiping away a few stray tears.  He looks like he might fall victim to crying himself.

 

"It's a great thing."  She kisses him deeply and affectionately.

 

*

He keeps a careful record of his pregnancy, starting from the day they found out.  It's clinical and detailed, describing the physiological changes to his body.  It'll be useful if they decide to have more children, the Doctor informs Clara when she flips through it.

 

"Do you want more kids?" she asked.

 

"Do you?"

 

"I asked first.  But yes, I always pictured myself having more than one."

 

He smiled in relief.  "I want that too."

 

"How many kids are you thinking about?"  Cautiously, not entirely sure what he's going to say.

 

He lifts a shoulder noncommittally.  "Four or five.  Maybe more.  All with your big inflatable eyes."

 

She's stunned for a moment, never realizing before that he wanted that.  Now he's the one watching her cautiously, uncertain of where the conversation is headed next.  Clara leans forward and kisses his cheek.  "Remind me to ask you again after you've given birth.

*

Clara turns out to be even more of a control freak now that the Doctor is carrying their child.  She does all of the cooking, conferring with the TARDIS to make sure he gets all the nutrients he needs and confiscates both the coffee and the sugar.  Truthfully, she expected more of a battle about that, but he wants this baby as much as she does.

 

They stay in the time vortex as much as possible, only touching down on Earth occasionally so Clara can pick up more pickles when the Doctor has eaten them all.  He craves odd food, but luckily they're easily obtainable.  She does her best to contain her horror when he invents the peanut butter and Jelly Baby sandwich.

 

He sleeps much later now, and one morning he stumbles sleepily into the console room to see Clara has filled his blackboards with all manner of lists.  Things they have, things they need, a list of potential hospitals across the galaxy, ideas to decorate the nursery, areas that need to be child-proofed.  Clara herself is flipping through a copy of _What To Expect When You're Expecting_.  The TARDIS database has combined knowledge of human and Gallifreyan biology to extrapolate its best guess at how the pregnancy will progress.  Even still, it's a guess and they have to take the results she spits out with a healthy pinch of cynicism.  But Clara feels better for having it.

 

He sits down, pats the seat next to him, tells her to calm down.  He's been a father before.  Everything will be okay.

 

The lists make Clara feel like she's involved.  Carrying the child is supposed to be her job.  With the Doctor doing that task, she needs to feel like she's contributing somehow.

 

Ten minutes later they are sitting on a couch, the Doctor presenting her with a bag.  Yarn, knitting needles, and a learn to knit book.  Here's some control, he tells her.  You're in charge of the baby's blanket.  She struggles, throws the project across the room in a fit of irritation.  He soothes her, encourages her to try again.

 

They end up in her gran's living room, Clara getting knitting lessons and the Doctor sipping tea with his feet propped up.  She doesn't say anything negative about their pregnancy, just congratulates them both, tries to overfeed the Doctor, and immediately picks out yarn for baby sweaters and matching booties and hats.  He clutches a tiny hat to his chest when they leave, hearts swelling happily and more than a little teary-eyed.

 

They tell her father next, and he takes the news surprisingly well.

 

The Doctor theorizes they did themselves a favor by telling Dave so many things at once.  Who the Doctor is, that he and Clara have been travelling together for quite some time, that he was the naked Swedish boyfriend (Clara wanted to leave that part out, but once the Doctor opened his mouth, he couldn't stop the nervous babbling), that he's essentially Clara's life partner and is carrying their child (Dave will spend the rest of the pregnancy urging Clara to marry him.  "For God's sake, Clara, that man is having your baby!  Hold onto him and never let him go.").  Her father is concerned, but he knows there's not much point in arguing with his daughter.  Once she makes up her mind, she follows through, and this is the life she's determined to lead.

 

*

The Doctor's thin frame is finally starting to show a baby bump.  Clara runs her hands over it frequently, adjusting his clothes- old T-shirts and plaid pajama bottoms, the only things that fit comfortably-  and talking to their child.

 

"The baby doesn't like it when you use that voice," he informs her one evening.  They're in bed, and Clara's head is near his stomach, hand stroking the bump lovingly.

 

"What makes you say that?"  She's reading Winnie the Pooh, and he has interrupted to criticize the voice she uses for Piglet.

 

He wiggles his fingers.  "Touch telepath.  The baby and I are connected, so I can hear what she's thinking."  His face falls when he realizes he's slipped up.

 

Clara bolts upright.  "She?"

 

"I meant to say 'they'.  I can hear what they are thinking."  He tries to distract her away from the slip of his tongue- she had wanted to be surprised.  "Are you okay?"

 

Her face is doing that thing, the smile with the tears.  Oh great, he's pregnant and his life-partner is malfunctioning.

 

"I'm wonderful.  We're going to have a daughter."  She kisses him deeply, tongue sliding against his.  "So what's she thinking now?"

 

"That she wants you to stop kissing her daddy and finish her story.  But use a different voice for Piglet."

 

*

 

He accidentally wakes Clara one night, kicking her while flailing around in what is now their bed, trying to get comfortable.  His stomach protrudes, all baby weight, and he needs to change position often to relieve the pressure. 

 

"Doctor?"

 

"Sorry.  Go back to sleep," he whispers then groans in discomfort.

 

"What's wrong?"  She's more awake now and sits up next to him.

 

"She's playing football with my organs. Go to sleep!"  He looks ridiculous, glaring at his belly, and Clara stifles a giggle.

 

She reaches over to her nightstand. "Here, try this."

 

He looks at the headphones and portable music player.  "Clara, how is me listening to music going to help the baby sleep?"

 

Clara rolls her eyes. He's so thick sometimes.  "Not you, the baby."  She tugs his t-shirt up and slides the headphones over his belly.  "Let it play on whatever calms her down."

 

The Doctor scrolls through Clara's music, skipping several tracks in a row.  He settles onto his back, head on her shoulder, and sighs happily when the kicking stops.  "David Bowie," he answers at her raised eyebrow, giggling along with her.

 

*

 

The Doctor uses an office chair to navigate the console and drive the TARDIS, gritting his teeth against the pressure in his gut.

 

"Doctor, stop being ridiculous.  I will drive," Clara says.

 

He waves her comments aside. "I can do it."

 

"You're in labour!" She screeches.  "Get over here now."  Without waiting for his compliance, she wheeled him away from the controls, ignoring his loud protests.  Clara finishes entering the coordinates and throws the lever home.

 

The TARDIS groans quietly as they move, her efforts focused on both comforting her thief and doing most of the work for Clara so she can keep her attention on him too.  Clara returns to his side and reaches for his hand, but he pulls away.

 

"Nothing personal," he assures her between gasps.  "I could easily  break your fingers, and hurting you is the last thing I want to do."

 

The TARDIS lands with a wheeze, and the Doctor struggles to his feet. He accepts Clara's arm around his waist for support, and together they slowly shuffle to the door, Clara wondering which hospital he chose.

 

She takes one look outside and tries to usher him back into the ship.  "No."

 

"Clara-"

 

"I said no."  Her tone is firm, but he's not backing down this time.

 

"Clara it's where I need to be."

 

She laughs incredulously.  "Doctor, you are not giving birth to this baby in Victorian London!  Hell, I'm nervous at the idea of you giving birth in my time."

 

"Calm down, Clara. We're not staying, just picking up Strax."  He rings the bell to the familiar house on Paternoster Row.  "Breathe."  He braces his hands on his knees.

 

"Doctor, I think I should be telling you that."  Clara poises herself to catch him if he sways.

 

The door opens, and Strax motions for them to come in.  "Welcome, Doctor.  Ah, I see you brought the boy with you."

 

Clara has long since given up on correcting Strax and focuses on the Doctor.  His contractions are still fairly far apart, but he's understandably uncomfortable.  "Strax, is there somewhere the Doctor can sit down for a bit?"

 

He leads them to the drawing room where Jenny and Vastra are waiting for them and leaves before Clara can stop him.  Vastra smiles warmly.  "Doctor, Clara, this is a surprise.  We weren't expecting you."

 

"Sorry to impose, but we actually need to borrow Strax," Clara informs her as she eases the Doctor onto a settee.

 

Jenny moves closer to them. "Ma'am, he doesn't look well.  What happened before you came here?"

 

The Doctor digs his nails into the furniture, breathing in sync with the rhythm Clara's hand taps on his shoulder.  "I'm in labour, and we need a nurse."

 

"Labour?"  Vastra repeats.  "As in-"

 

"As in I will soon be pushing a half-human, half-Gallifreyan out of my body," he interrupts.

 

"Strax!"  Vastra bellows, and soon their entire group is heading into the TARDIS.  Strax and the Doctor enter first, the Sontaran easily supporting the Time Lord, and the women trail behind.  Clara is about to return to the Doctor's side when Vastra stops her.  "He said half-human.  Is that half from you?"

 

She holds her head high, refusing to break eye contact.  "I did say my head wasn't turned by pretty, young men."

 

Vastra smirks.  "You did indeed."

 

Jenny claps in delight.  "Sounds like a lot has changed since we saw you last."

 

Clara smiles sincerely.  "It has, and I'd love to fill you in after the baby's here."

 

The ship provides everything they need to prepare for the new arrival.  The sickbay is even cleaner than usual, and they all change into scrubs.  Clara helps the Doctor undress and redress in a hospital gown, and together with Strax she gets him in the bed.  She sits in a chair next to the Doctor's head, his journal open in her lap, recording the birth, filling any request he has, and just generally fretting.

 

"Are you sure you don't know anyone with an actual medical degree that you'd like here?" Clara asks again.  The contractions are closer together now, stronger, and taking more out of the Doctor.  He looks exhausted already.

 

Strax cuts off the Doctor's refusal, positioned by his feet.  "No time.  I can see the infant's head.  Doctor, commence pushing." 

 

And so begins the draining process of pushing.  Clara's encouragement is drowned out by the Doctor's panting and screaming, but he can feel her squeezing his arms supportively.  Just when he thinks he can't possibly keep going, he gives one final push, and then Strax is holding their baby.

 

"It's a strapping, young boy," he announces.  Clara and the Doctor exchange glances.

 

"It's a girl," Vastra coos, taking her from Strax and holding her up.  "And she's beautiful."  She and Jenny take her to the corner to clean her up.

 

The Doctor collapses back into the pillows and takes Clara's hand.  "We did it," he says softly.

 

"You did it."  She cups his cheek and kisses him deeply.  "How are you feeling?  Still want to do that four more times?"

 

He laughs breathlessly.  "Ask me again in a year when I've forgotten the pain."

 

Jenny brings their now-clean daughter over to them.  "Here's Mum and Dad."  She carefully passes the baby to Clara.

 

"Hey, little one.  I'm your mum.  Daddy and I are very happy to see you."  She sits down on the bed gingerly, careful not to jostle the Doctor.

 

"She's so tiny," he whispers, reaching out for her hand.  He leans over to press his lips to her forehead.  The Doctor takes the baby in his arms, and Clara wipes tears from his face.  "Happy tears," he assures her unnecessarily.  He looks up at their friends.  "Thank you."

 

"Congratulations.  We'll see ourselves out, but if you need anything, you know where to find us," Vastra says.  She motions for Jenny and Strax to follow her out, leaving the little family together.  The new parents eventually leave the sickbay and move to their room, where the TARDIS has moved the Doctor's old cot.  They stare down at their little one.

 

"You know," Clara said, leaning over to adjust their daughter's blanket.  "We never really talked about names."

 

The Doctor smiles.  "I've been thinking about that.  What do you think of Danielle Eleanor?  After Danny and your mum."

 

"Are you sure?"  She doesn't have any problems with naming their child after her mum, but after Danny?

 

"Positive.  She'll grow up to be a great person.  Just like her namesakes."

 

"Welcome to the world, Danielle Eleanor Oswald."


End file.
